Tell Me Where it Hurts
by The Hark-ness monster
Summary: Sam has completed the 2nd trial and Dean thinks he knows just what his little brother needs...but he doesn't know. He just doesn't know. (non-con, hurt!sam)


Supernatural

A wincest fan fiction

Tell Me Where It Hurts

Sam stumbled out of the car. Dean didn't notice.

"Well I'm sure glad that's over," Dean said, referring to the 2nd trial, with a forced cheer in his voice and a fake smile he put on for Sam's sake. Sam fake-smiled back.

Dean clapped his brother lovingly on the shoulder. Sam winced ever so slightly as pain shot out from his shoulder in all directions. Every muscle was sore, his bones ached, he felt like his head was going to explode, and invisible bruises covered his skin. Right now all he wanted was to curl up in his nice warm bed in the bunker and die. But he wasn't about to let Dean know that.

Sam trudged through the door behind Dean who stepped with energy and liveliness that Sam truly envied. Dean was blathering on about Cas, the third trial, or Wisconsin or some shit, Sam couldn't really hear beyond the terrible ringing in his ears, but his brother turned back to check up on him when he realized he wasn't following close behind.

"Hey, how're you doing? You alright?" Dean said gently, genuine concern in his voice as he approached his younger brother who was nearly doubled over in pain.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm fine," Sam managed. It was an outright lie, but his face told the truth.

Dean sighed, stepping closer to his brother who leaned back against the wall for relief, breathing heavily. They stood like that for a long time, Sam catching his breath. Dean, slowly leaning in closer to him, placed a hand on Sam's chest gently holding him there.

"No you're not," he nearly whispered, his face turned to the ground. "You're not fine, Sammy." Their eyes met in a pure expression of love and understanding. "You're hurting aren't you?" And Sam's eyes told him it was true. Dean's hand began to move slowly up his chest, over his neck and twisted into Sam's hair lovingly but oh so sensual, and Sam knew what Dean was doing. He tried to stop himself from arching against his brother's body but he couldn't. Dean was so close and so warm and so perfect. "It's ok, cuz I'm gonna take care of you Sammy." Dean whispered hotly into his neck, and his other hand started at Sam's waist and worked its way down. Sam hissed when Dean's fingers found their way in between the hardness in both of their jeans. "Gonna make you feel good." Dean licked at Sam's neck. "So good." His breath was hot and wanting with just the slightest bit of uncompromising force behind it that was so Dean.

Sam groaned. There was no way he would be able to do this. Not now. Not in his condition. And Dean had never been very good at comfort sex. For Sam, even the thought of sex right now was painful and the way Dean liked it, he knew it just might kill him. "Dean, I don't know if that's a good idea…" he sighed, daring not to look at his brother. He could just imagine those dark pupils blown wide against the bright green of his brother's eyes and he knew if he caught a glimpse of that he would not be able to say no. He stared at the ground, desperately trying to ignore the hand softly rubbing against his crotch.

"You want this Sammy." Dean pushed himself up onto his toes creating more friction between them that made Sam suck in a breath. "I'll be gentle, I swear." And Dean nibbled ever so slightly on his brother's ear, which wasn't exactly a promise of gentleness. Sam wasn't really "in the mood", but he trusted his brother and so he let Dean lead him to the bedroom.

Sam hobbled weakly over to the bed, trying his best to appear stronger than he was, his brother never leaving his side, and laid down carefully. He sighed and let his weak and weary body sink into the mattress. It was nice, until Dean crawled on top of him.

Dean sat himself gently down, straddling his brother's hips. Sam stared up at him as if he were on display, licking his lips as Dean stripped off his shirt. Sam let his hand rest gently on the back of Dean's thigh, trying to enjoy the sight of his brother stripping for him and ignore the ache he felt deep in his bones.

Dean leaned down to kiss him, holding his face in his hands, and sealed off Sam's lips just in time to stop a fragile whimper from escaping, for which Sam was thankful. His kissed his brother back with passion, keeping him there for a long time while he tried to muster the energy and enthusiasm he knew was going to be required for what was coming. "_come on sam, you can do this."_

Dean's hands found their way beneath Sam's t-shirt and he pressed his fingers into the skin beneath, Sam letting out little panting "ah"s against his brother's kiss-swollen lips. And Dean breathed in each one as if they were his only air.

Dean smiled at the feel of Sam's soft skin on his palms, at the tiny noises his brother was making in the back of his throat as he worked his lips on the skin of his neck. He thought Sam was getting off on the pleasure of his own masterful hands and the thought of Sam's pleasure when straight to Dean's cock. But he wouldn't be smiling if he knew how it really felt to Sam. Dean's fingertips were like tiny burning coals, searing his sore skin, the heavy weight pressing down on him was suffocating, and Dean's lips, through soft, felt like they were leaving bruises of their own.

Dean pulled away, and it was a relief. Sam opened his eyes, hoping it was over. It wasn't. Dean was sitting back up in Sam's lap, working at his brother's belt. Sam groaned. It only spurred Dean on.

Once Dean pulled Sam's jeans open, he tugged them down and off. Sam had to hold his breath for a few seconds to stop the cry at the back of his throat because _fuck_ Dean was _not_ being gentle.

"Dean," Sam panted, grabbing Dean's hand as it wrapped itself around the back of Sam's leg. "Can you, ah," his head fell back on the pillow and he squeezed his eyes shut. Dean's concerned gaze stayed fixed on his brother. "Can you go slower?" He paused to swallow, his throat felt like sandpaper. "Please?"

"'Course, baby boy," Dean said softly, lips pressed to the back of Sam's knee as he kissed a trail from there back up his thigh until he stopped to mark his brother's hips.

Sam took this moment to breathe. He honestly didn't know if he was going to be able to get through this but he sure as hell was going to try even if he had to grit his teeth. He tried his best to relax, breathing in and out slowly, even though his lungs ached, and he managed to gently rock his hips up into Dean's kisses. And yeah it hurt to have Dean's lips there working hungrily at a hickey, it fucking _stung_, but Sam tried his best to remember how good that felt the last time they did this, and with that he managed to survive.

Dean finally pulled his lips away leaving a string of saliva with one final lick, seeming pleased with his work. "You ready for this, Sammy?" he peered up at his little brother who nodded weakly. He wasn't ready, of course. But he nodded all the same. And he regretted it.

Dean worked his way back down between Sam's legs, hands on the back of his thighs slowly pushing them up to give himself better access to Sam's hole that was tight and pink and perfect. He leaned down and licked against the flesh there and Sam _moaned, _hot and dirty because, fuck, that actually _felt good._ Dean grinned, pleased with himself, and fucked Sam open on his tongue, making sure to take his sweet time. Sam was in no hurry and neither was he. He licked and kissed and hummed in pleasure that Sam could feel inside him. Dean's tongue was gentle, and soft, and warm and Sam wished they could just do this all night.

But once Sam's breathing picked up again, the pain came back. There was a heavy weight in his chest and soreness in his joints as he rocked his hips, working himself on Dean's tongue, trying to glean every last drop of pleasure he could from this simple act but it wasn't enough.

Finally, fingers replaced tongue and _that_ hurt. Dean worked them fast inside him, occasionally scissoring them to get his hole ready to take his cock. Sam wanted so bad to tell Dean to stop, to push him away, certain that no amount of preparation would ready him, but if Dean was going to fuck him then he knew that he needed this.

Sam stopped moving altogether. As Dean worked him open, Sam laid there, jaw clenched tight, hands curled around fistfuls of the sheets. And he couldn't say anything for a long time. It was so damn hot how Dean was fucking him thoroughly with his fingers, panting and sweating and kissing the inside of Sam's thigh and Sam wanted to be enjoying this, wanted that so bad, but it felt like the sun was burning inside his head and the world was collapsing in on his chest, and every inch of his skin was on fire. And Dean was soft and slow and gentle, but to Sam it only felt brutal. He groaned and brought his hands up to cover his eyes and pressed them there tight trying to repress the agony, trying to focus on feeling anything other than pain. But pain was all there was.

Dean looked up at Sam's face, which, even behind his hands, Dean could see was glowing bright red, more than just the faint blush of arousal. This was a face reddened with _strain_. His hair was damp with exertion, his brow slick with sweat. Tiny little whimpers came from behind gritted teeth. And then Dean began to have doubts that Sam was enjoying this. And he should have stopped right then and there, but he didn't. He kept going.

When Dean removed his fingers, Sam finally released the breath he'd been holding. But the worst part was yet to come.

Dean slid out of his jeans, groaning softly as he ran his hot palm over his erection. He disappeared for a moment to retrieve lube and apparently was too oblivious and focused on his own needs to hear Sam start quietly sobbing to himself. Dean returned and Sam gasped. He began to panic at the sight of his brother working a slick hand over his dick in preparation. "_Jesus, Sam, you can't do this. Just tell him. You can't, no way, no way in hell…" _But Sam kept his mouth shut and he didn't know why.

He let Dean line himself up with his entrance.

He let Dean lean down over top of him.

He let Dean pant gently into his neck and hold him down with a hand on his shoulder.

He let Dean take what he wanted.

And he didn't know why. He didn't know why he did this to himself, think that his brother always came first. And he worshipped his brother, respected him in ways beyond words, but to let it get _this_ far Sam was certain he must have a problem. And he did. He was addicted to Dean.

At this point, he was choking back tears.

"Oh god," Sam moaned as Dean slowly moved his hips forward, gently pushing into his little brother. This was not the usual expression of pleasure. Now came the _pain_. Usually this part was made bearable by pleasure but today there was none. It was pure, teeth-clenching, white hot agony. His whole body went tense.

Dean pushed himself in gently, a little farther each time, and Sam was making choked cries in the back of his throat with his head thrown back in hopes that maybe Dean wouldn't see. But finally the tears broke free and rolled down the sides of his face.

He didn't know how but finally he found the words. "Dean," he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper and he latched onto his brother's arm in a death grip. Now Dean tensed too. "Dean, please…please stop," he choked out and tears flowed freely now. And Dean finally realized what was going on.

"Sammy, oh my god, Sammy," Dean panicked, running his hand frantically over Sam's face, shining with sweat. "I hurt you, didn't I? _Shit,_" he realized and crawled off of Sam as quickly as possible without causing any further harm. "Sammy, I'm sorry, oh my god, I'm so sorry, I can't believe I did that to you, I'm so stupid, Sam, why did you let me-" and his own voice quickly broke into desperate sobs as he finally saw the pain his brother was in for what it truly was. He would've continued his apology if Sam hadn't grabbed his face in his hands and drowned out his words with a deep, passionate kiss. It was hard and rough and Sam surprised himself with the amount of energy he managed to muster to kiss his brother so forcefully on the lips.

They both came up panting, Dean still a little bit in shock, Sam still cringing in pain. "I love you Dean, I love you," Sam promised, punctuating each breath with another kiss to make his point. "Just please…stop talking," he sighed.

Now that Dean had managed to pull himself together, he looked over at Sam and his heart shattered. The man looked _broken_, like he'd been hit by a truck or was recovering from a coma. (Or was about to slip into a coma, but Dean shut that thought down immediately). His eyes were puffy, red and glistening with tears, tired, like he could barely keep them open. His face was horridly pale except for the blotchy redness leftover from the strain of fighting back the pain. He looked utterly fragile, like he would break into a million pieces if he even moved and inch. He looked sick, his breathing was shallow, like every breath was his last.

And Dean would've said sorry a thousand times over if Sam hadn't begged him to shut up and he was disgusted, utterly appalled at himself, and all he managed was a choked whimper as he looked into his brothers tired and weary eyes.

Dean's expression could be described as none other than horror and guilt nearly killed them both that night. But they fought back tears with gentle kisses and managed to make it through on quiet, whispered "I love you"s.


End file.
